


Mr. Saxobeat

by Zo One (Olwyn)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Fluff, M/M, Musician Alfred, UKUS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:21:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28994376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olwyn/pseuds/Zo%20One
Summary: Arthur finds out that there are still things for him to learn about his new boyfriend, Alfred. Who knew that playing the saxophone was such a turn-on?
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 30





	Mr. Saxobeat

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I found some old writing and edited it up. ;w; I hope it's not too terrible. (If you spot any errors, please tell me so I can fix it!)

Somedays, Arthur thinks he knows Alfred as well as the back of his hand. A justifiable thought based on how much he had watched the young man.

The first time he noticed Alfred was through the window of his flat as the American tended to his neighbor’s lawn. Soon, he noticed that every weekend Alfred was there; planting flowers, creating borders of chipped stone, seeding the lawn, even moving that ridiculous statue of the deer back and forth across the lawn as his neighbor saw fit.

He would pull up a chair on Saturday afternoons and slant the blinds _just right,_ so hopefully people didn’t notice him sitting in an open window drooling over the lad mowing the lawn across the way. And as he sat with a hot cuppa tea, he’d blow on the steam and pray that the boy with the sweaty chest and penchant for running around shirtless was at least eighteen.

But now, _now_ – how wonderfully improbable it might have seemed a few weeks ago while skulking in his window; Alfred was very much _his_. A lovely, boastful, childish, and sentimentally nervous creature rolled into one twenty-year-old man that happily bumbled about with his arms wide open to the world.

Arthur was endlessly thankful for the day that he had caught Alfred’s attention (to his embarrassment, the blinds hadn’t been slanted well enough and honestly, that was a conversation he would rather not relive). Although he felt he was likely more of a curiosity to the American, as he was just a confused man from across the pond with an “interesting” accent.

“So what if you’re a few years older than me,” Alfred was saying. He was sitting on Arthur’s dark blue, polyester couch, one leg draped over the armrest, causing his jeans to flatten against his wonderful thigh in a way that prevented Arthur from lecturing him about propriety and posture. 

“I mean our parents are twelve years apart, so I don’t know why Matt is getting worried over a four-year age gap.” He huffed with a dramatic cross of his arms and stared at Arthur questioningly. “It doesn’t bother _you_ that I’m younger, right?”

“Good heavens. I haven’t a clue where you got that idea,” Arthur said quickly, cradling his teacup in his hands and settling next to Alfred on the couch. “I should be asking you if you find me too old.”

Alfred stuttered, as if the concept that _he_ might be the one with a problem never crossed his mind. He wrapped an arm around Arthur and pulled him close against his side.

“No way, man. Twenty-four isn’t old at all. I mean, I might say something if you were pushin’ thirty – but, well, you’re not so let’s not worry about it.” He flashed Arthur a bright smile, rubbing his hand up and down the top of Arthur’s arm. “I actually stopped by today ‘coz I have something for you. I didn’t mean to start complaining about the family or anything.”

“That’s quite alright,” Arthur mumbled in response. “There’s a reason I put an entire ocean between myself and my family,” he said with a wry smile. “They’re far too much for me to handle.”

He let his head fall comfortably onto Alfred’s shoulder for a moment before sitting back up when he remembered what else Alfred mentioned. “You said you had something for me?”

“Yeah! Are you free this Friday night?” Alfred asked, looking down at Arthur with his bright blue eyes. His eyebrows were tilted in a way that indicated nervousness for the answer. He always seemed so nervous when anything intimate, romantically or emotionally, was going to happen.

Arthur found it endearing, but he was curious as to what could make Alfred feel anxious about Friday night.

“Yes, I’m free.” Arthur did his best to put an air of excitement into his words (or at least genuine curiosity – he’d never been the best at emoting in a positive manner).

Alfred dug into his pocket and produced a slightly wrinkled card and stapled receipt.

“What’s this?” Arthur asked, gingerly taking the paper to peer at the emblazed, golden letters.

Alfred’s smile quirked to the side slightly. “You like jazz music, right? I mean you seem like the type – uhm, this is a . . . a ticket? No more like – it’s a seat reservation to the uh, Winehouse on Maple Drive. It has jazz concerts every Friday night I thought you might _like_ it?”

Arthur did his best to ignore the way Alfred’s voice squeaked at the end of his rambling. To try and ease his beau, he began to examine the ticket earnestly.

“When you say jazz, do you mean that impromptu music that you Americans are fond of? I’ve never been to one of those – it’s not horribly common where I used to live, or at least, not as popular as the opera is. My mother loved the opera, so that observation might be biased.”

“I, uhm . . . yeah it’s the impromptu jazz – I. . .” He faltered, hand squeezing Arthur’s shoulder a little. “I can’t think of any jazz that doesn’t have the impromptu solos, but, well this is smooth jazz! Not like that swing jazz you see in old Vietnam war movies and, uh, well, if you don’t like it you don’t have to go, you know. I’ll be there but you don’t have to. It’s alright.”

“Alfred, hush for a moment.” Arthur softly pressed a single finger to Alfred’s lip, letting it trail downwards and pull at the American’s lower lip. He watched in a moment of fascination before continuing, “I’ll be there. It sounds like an interesting night, so don’t feel as if you’re forcing me to go or whatever you’re fretting about right now, hm?”

Alfred smiled at him, looking for the life of him, completely content. “Thanks, Art, it means a lot to me, you know?”

He dragged his fingers through Arthur’s hair for a moment, simply smiling fondly at him before moving to stand. “Well, I’ll see you Friday night, alright? I’ve got a few jobs to finish before then. So, don’t miss me too much.”

“Oh, I’ll try not to, but it’s so damned difficult.” Arthur follows Alfred to the door, watching him stomp recklessly into his grass-stained tennis shoes. “I suppose I shall have to survive until Friday, then.”

“How about a kiss to tide you over?” Alfred asked with his hand on the doorknob. He tilted his head down in anticipation.

Arthur chuckled and pressed their lips together before drawing back slightly. He breathed in, savoring the moment, then touched another feathery kiss to the corner of Arthur’s smiling mouth.

Their noses brushed against each other, Alfred’s breath tickled over Arthur’s lips as he said, “I would ask for more, but then I’d get carried away and never leave.”

“I would feel dreadfully bad if you were late,” Arthur mumbled, stealing another chaste kiss before Alfred could say more. “Now hurry along, before I change my mind about letting you leave.”

Arthur loved the way Alfred would smile at him, and he thanked his lucky stars for what must be the millionth time since he started seeing the American.

Alfred left with a small wave and an exaggerated, blown kiss from the palm of his hand. Friday night could not come soon enough.

* * *

The jazz concert was being held in a sectioned-off lobby of a five-star hotel in the upper-class end of the city.

Arthur was relieved that he dressed in his usual semi-formal style: slacks, button-down, chic sweater vest. He ran his fingers along the tie around his neck as a smartly dressed waiter took his ticket and genially seated him at a round table where two other guests were waiting.

“Hello,” he greeted cordially as he took his seat, pushing the wineglass away from his empty plate. It was a rather fancy place and Arthur was rather impressed that Alfred managed to get reservations. If only he knew where Alfred was at, then he could thoroughly enjoy this night.

The woman next to him smiled, her lips painted a deep, lovely shade of red that offset her elegant green dress and gently curled brown hair.

“Hello, darling,” she said, lifting her wineglass and swirling the yellow-tinted liquid inside. She watched it swirl for a moment before continuing, “You must be Arthur. Alfred told us all about you, you know.”

Arthur tried to smile, hoping that whatever had been said were _good_ things.

Next to her, a man with dark brown hair and silver spectacles nodded with a distant look on his face. “He also informed us that you don’t know of his, ah, nighttime activities?” He paused, grimacing.   
“That sounded lewd . . . Well, either way, we’re here to keep you company for the night as Alfred is a good friend of ours.”

“Ah now Roderich, you act as if this young man won’t prove to be good company.” She laid her hand on top of Roderich’s and pat it kindly. “Sorry about that, he’s normally much sweeter, I promise.”

She turned to Arthur with a smile.

At this point, he was becoming nervous. If Alfred wasn’t here, then where was he? And what was he doing that seemed _lewd_ of all things?

“Ah, oh don’t panic now, lovely,” the woman said with a small chuckle, her red lips straining further as she began to grin with a knowing gleam. “Alfred is here, I promise, but he’s going to be right up there.”

Arthur watched as she pointed to the stage, a polished wood affair not too far from where they were sitting, and he swallowed thickly. So, it was dinner and a show with strangers. Well, not what he had been anticipating, but he could appreciate a free meal.

“I see,” he mumbled, but then remembered himself and straightened his posture. “Thank you for, ah, accompanying me, then.” His green eyes were trained onto the plush curtained stage, his fingers beginning to drum on the decorated table. “Does he, ah, come here often?” he decided to ask when he wasn’t sure he could take the uncomfortable silence for much longer.

The woman nodded. “Yes. He performs every Friday night – sometimes on Saturdays, but not very often and usually only for special events. It’s such a shame that it’s only his hobby – he has such a magnificent talent.” Her smile waned slightly before brightening once again.

“My name is Elizabeta by the way, and this is my husband, Roderich.”

“I’m Arthur Kirkland,” he replied, doing his best to be pleasant even though he still wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel about this setup.

A waiter stopped at their table with a small notepad and asked each of them which dish they’d rather have: a steak with baked potato and steamed vegetables, or chicken cordon bleu with a cup of mushroom soup and roasted green beans. He ordered the chicken and is surprised to find that everything is already paid for.

Begrudgingly accepts a glass of white wine. He really wished he could enjoy such a nice meal with Alfred instead. Thinking of Alfred . . . did these friends of his know, exactly, how he and Alfred were acquainted?

“Elizabeta, did Alfred, ah, mention . . .” he trailed off for a moment, wondering if it was appropriate to come out and say just how he and Alfred knew one another. But . . . he supposed that if they are close friends of his love, then they likely already knew.

“I’m his boyfriend,” he said anyway.

Laughing, Elizabeta turned to Roderich and said, “Give him two points for having the guts to mention that, dearest.” She shook her head, her hair bouncing about. “It took Alfred weeks to tell us, and when he did, he was sweating so profusely.” She sighed affectionately. “I’m beginning to like you, Arthur. I really am.”

Arthur didn’t know what to say in return, so he kept quiet until the curtains began to draw back. At the same time, several waiters entered the lobby with their prepared dishes. A small murmur among the crowd broke out, giving thanks and asking for another glass of wine before the show started.

On stage the band, eight people in total, slowly filed in, taking their time to find their wooden stools and adjust their music stands.

Arthur looked up to see Alfred dressed impeccably well, (he could even see the boy’s shoes shine from where he sat). If he thought his love had been beautiful when covered in sweat and dirt, then right now, he looked absolutely _ravishing_.

Alfred settled easily onto a stool with a glistening, well-loved, saxophone against his hip, the neck strap tucked beneath his collar to keep it from distracting onlookers. Their eyes met and Alfred gave him a brilliant grin that simply lit up his entire face before the man with the trumpet began to tap out a beat on the side of his stool and everyone put their instruments to their mouths.

Arthur soon found himself enchanted as he listened to the smooth jazz the band played, sipping at his white wine, and picking at his chicken. Elizabeta made a few comments on Alfred’s solo, but Arthur wasn’t a jazz connoisseur, however, he did know how to appreciate good music when he heard it, and he made sure to offer his praise whenever it came up in conversation.

Undoubtedly being rude, Arthur felt that he could only stare at Alfred. Watching long fingers deftly work out the notes, the curve of his bottom lip as it’s tucked under his reed, and how his enticing blue eyes would constantly find him whenever there was a soft lull in the music.

Somehow the entire scenario fit Alfred – the boy who mowed lawns and shoveled snow for a lawn care business – dressed to the nines and crooning beautiful music for those begging to hear it. It was a different side of the American that Arthur felt he should have seen coming – he should have known there was more to Alfred than that, but he wasn’t going to complain.

The show was just under three hours long. Guests could come and go, but a great many stayed for the entirety of it. The band closed off their performance with one, final note from a muted trumpet vibrato. The crowed gave polite claps, whistles, and cheers as the players all bowed before exiting the stage.

Arthur wanted to jump up immediately and follow Alfred to kiss at those pinked lips, likely sore from playing his instrument for so long; to let those nimble fingers run down his sides and – _oh_ , he could not wait to get that man alone.

“I’m not an expert,” he says conversationally as the dim lights began to brighten in increments, “but that was a good show. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, partly due to the music and partly for your company. Thank you.”

Elizabeta laughed, hiding her mouth behind a hand as her shoulders shook with her amusement. “They always put on an excellent show. They’re Roderich’s favorite group by far – and that’s quite the compliment. Oh, but here’s your escort now,” she said, waving to somewhere behind Arthur. “Don’t mind us dear, we’ll see you again sometime.”

Arthur looked back to see Alfred moving towards their table, his saxophone put away into a fabric case that’s slung over his shoulder by a thick strap.

“Hey guys,” Alfred said cheerily, sliding up next to Arthur with a grin that can’t be contained. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“It was commendable, as always, Alfred,” Roderich said, somewhat stiff, as they all stand. “I still wish you would take up that full-time offer. You would do great, I’m sure.”

Alfred only chuckled. “Thanks, but no thanks. You know I don’t see myself doing this all the time. I love music, but, eh, I want to do other things, too.” He turned to Arthur, his blue eyes shining with anxious hope. “So, what’d you think of it? Isn’t jazz great?”

“Well, we must be going,” Elizabeta interrupted for a moment, patting Arthur on the shoulder gently. “We’ll see you again, dear. Thank you for the lovely night as always, Alfred.”

They said quick farewells and Alfred led them outside, Arthur’s arm tucked into his. “Well? What’d you think?”

Arthur found himself smiling like a fool – Alfred’s cheer was so infectious; and he’s glad that he took a cab for once. Now Alfred could take him home and their conversation would continue.

“It was wonderful,” he said as they stopped next to Alfred’s car and separated to move to each side. “You never told me that you played an instrument, and definitely not so well either.”

“I thought it’d be a great surprise, you know?”

They bundled themselves into Alfred’s car, and Arthur was grateful to be out of the humid late-summer heat – or at least the brunt of it. He was too occupied to care much about the weather; too busy staring wantonly at Alfred’s moist lips. He bet that would be soft and pliant after playing his sax for nearly three hours. Arthur wanted to taste them and see.

“Is something wrong?” Alfred asked with a smile that was pulled to the side, as if he couldn’t decide whether to be worried or smug.

After a moment of hesitation, Arthur reached out and grasped Alfred’s free hand over the armrest between them. He squeezed it in reassurance. “Everything is perfectly fine,” he said, leaning forward slowly. “Even better than that, I’d wager.”

Alfred gave a nervous chuckle but before he could put the car into gear, Arthur stopped him with a kiss. He licked and nipped at Alfred’s lips, pleased to find that they were as giving and plump as he imagined they would be.

Alfred, as he had the tendency to do when they kissed, gasped, and breathed a hot, shuddering breath on Arthur’s face. If it had been anyone else, Arthur might’ve thought it offensive, but somehow, with Alfred, it was a natural reaction, and he relished the seemingly clumsy quirk as a facet of his love’s simple charms.

“You were fantastic, and I would love to hear you play again, darling,” Arthur mumbled against Alfred’s cheek, taking a moment to rub his nose against Alfred’s sensitive ear.

He sighed. “I think . . .” he trailed off, pensive. He pulled himself back into his own seat but continued to allow one hand to cup the side of Alfred’s face, his thumb stroking along the American’s strong cheekbone. “I find it quite sexy; I do.”

“I’ll have to play for you sometime then,” Alfred breathed out, nuzzling into the palm of Arthur’s hand before facing forward and clearing his throat. “What time do you get home from work tomorrow?”

Arthur shrugged as he fastened his seatbelt. “About five, why?”

“Mm, I think I’ll pay you a visit if I get the time, that’s all.”

Arthur only nodded, then let his head fall to Alfred’s shoulder as his love began the drive home. He felt satisfied and content with this new information – Alfred, a musician. He wished he could invite Alfred into his home to complete the romantic night, but he knew Alfred had to work early the next morning and it seemed considerate to wait. For now.

Alfred left him with a long, wet kiss and he wished he weren’t such a gentleman.

* * *

Arthur rather enjoyed his work as an editor for the local paper. He had his own column, shown once a week, where he was permitted to rant and give advice; approved and rejected articles, ideas, placements, and made a decent living doing so.

When he returned home that Saturday evening, he was looking forward to brewing some herbal tea and snuggling on the sofa with Alfred (if his sweet did decide to drop by like he mentioned that he might).

What Arthur didn’t expect, however, was to hear the soft, muffled noise of music through the closed door of his flat. He jammed his key into the lock and pressed his ear up against the wood, straining to hear the quiet notes within.

He wasn’t too horribly alarmed because he was quite sure no one breaks into other people’s homes to play music (he was fairly sure this was true for the American populace as well); and, because he found that his door was already unlocked. Only two other people had the keys to his home. One of those people being a saxophone player.

The music was louder inside, and he made sure to close the door loudly so whoever invited themselves over knew he was home, but the music didn’t stop.

He walked carefully through the hall, his grip on his briefcase tightening just in case it actually was an ill burglar and he had a weapon of sorts. When he came upon his living room, however, he stopped and dropped what he was holding.

Alfred was sitting on his couch, naked as the day he was born, playing his sax in jazzy scales.

Arthur didn’t know what to do or say. His throat went dry and his palms began to sweat. He wanted to curse Alfred for holding the sax between his legs, hiding his crotch from plain view.

“I, uhm, ah, Alfred, I…” Arthur swallowed thickly. How was a person supposed to respond to something like this? At least, respond in a _gentlemanly_ manner.

He took another step into the room as the music trailed off and Alfred pulled the instrument away from his mouth. Now they were both blushing and Arthur wondered where Alfred got the idea and courage to pull off such a daring and promiscuous stunt.

“You look lovely,” he blurted.

Alfred barked out a laugh, his ears pink from nervous embarrassment. Although he didn’t let it bother him as much as Arthur always assumed it would. “I’m naked,” he pointed out, amused. He cocked an eyebrow and then waved Arthur over. “I told you I’d like to play for you sometime… so, well, here I am.”

“I see.”

Arthur took a seat on the recliner across from Alfred and crossed his legs. He began to loosen his tie, making sure to draw out the action as he looked Alfred up and down. “Well then, why don’t you play me a song?” he asked and sat back.

By the look on Alfred’s face, it’s obvious he didn’t think he would actually have to play, but Arthur was feeling a bit devious and with a smile, gestured for him to begin.

“Oh, right, yeah.” Alfred licked his lower lip and tucked it under the reed on his mouthpiece. His blue eyes wandered to the ceiling in thought before he began playing a tune with slow, low notes that reverberated strongly through the instrument.

Arthur let his head bob with the beat, closing his eyes to listen carefully. After a few minutes he stood and took off his shoes before settling himself next to Alfred on the couch.

He pauses in his music, but Arthur simply mutters, “Keep playing, love.” Alfred obeys the soft command, letting his eyes fall to half-mast as he stared forward in mild concentration.

With a lick of his lips, Arthur undid the first two buttons of his dress shirt and shrugged off his jacket. Carefully he laid it across the arm of the couch. He watched Alfred’s fingers move nimbly, searching out notes as he thought of them.

Smiling, Arthur dragged the backs of knuckles along the outside of Alfred’s thigh, watching his love struggle to ignore the caress. Arthur hummed, feeling mischievous, and traced his fingers upwards, over the jut of Alfred’s hip and along the skin of his stomach, making sure to avoid jostling the saxophone.

Then he leaned forward, starting a conquest of taste by pressing a trail of kisses along Alfred’s shoulder, following the curve of his neck. He pulled away after a little nip, to instead let the tips of his fingers run down Alfred’s spine instead.

Arthur enjoyed the way Alfred shivered under his touch, his face scrunching with desperate focus. The freckles that graced Alfred’s sun-kissed skin were like little stars for him to connect with his wandering hands.

“That’s a beautiful song, Alfred. You have a true talent.”

There was a final note, a decrescendo of the vibrato before Alfred pulled the instrument from his mouth and grinned. “It’s hard to concentrate when you’re being so sexy, you know.”

“Me? Hardly.” Arthur ran his fingers through Alfred’s hair and sighed. “Blast, but you’re gorgeous.”

Alfred finally moved his saxophone, placing it on the couch gently after looking around for its case in vain. He was half-hard and embarrassed, but endearingly so as he tried to push through the conflicting emotions as he always does.

He coughed, looking as if he were about to recite a speech. “Well, solos are great and all, but it’s nothing compared to making music with others. So . . . how about you and I make some beautiful music together?”

Arthur snorted – never did he think he would hear such an awful line in his life, but he felt oddly charmed. He linked his fingers together behind Alfred’s neck, pulling his love closer. “That has to be the worst line I’ve ever heard,” he said, leaning in to press a kiss to Alfred’s chin. “I can scarcely believe it worked.”

“Did it really?” Alfred laughed and pulled Arthur into a hug. “Well, shit, what are we waiting for? Let’s get to the bedroom!”

“Ever eager,” Arthur said as Alfred helped him off the couch and leads him towards Arthur’s room. Alfred smiled at him from over his shoulder, suddenly turning to press him against a wall and kiss him senseless before returning to their original task.

By the time they fell onto the bed, Arthur’s shirt was mostly undone, and his belt buckle was jangling loosely from his belt loops.

Alfred yanked Arthur on top of him, hissing a little as the fabric of Arthur’s pants rubbed against his erection. He ran his hands under Arthur’s shirt to drag his blunt nails up the curve of his back.

“I’m so glad you like jazz music,” he said as he worked off Arthur’s shirt. “I mean, hell, I . . . you’re great and smart and handsome and all that, but I don’t think we would get along too well if you didn’t. That, and . . . mhnn, shit don’t stop – but, ah, it’s a turn on that you do-ahh!”

Arthur grinned and flicked the nipple that he had been tweaking, causing Alfred to squeak. “You’re the one who was playing a saxophone, naked, on my sofa. I want to kiss whoever helped you come up with the idea, you lovely minx.”

“Then kiss me ‘coz it was all my idea.”

Arthur chuckled and captured his love’s mouth, enjoying the wet, plumped feeling of Alfred’s lips after playing his saxophone and how Alfred breathes on him before tugging him into another kiss.

Alfred melted underneath him, pushing the shirt off his shoulders, and skimmed his fingers just beneath the waist of his pants. “Hurry up and get naked,” he demanded when the kiss finally broke with a nip to his lower lip.

Without argument, Arthur did as he was told, quickly kicking off his trousers and peeling off his argyle socks. When he was completely naked, he pressed himself against Alfred and they both groaned at the intimacy of skin against skin.

“I want you,” Arthur breathed out against Alfred’s neck. “I yearn for you.”

“Then take me,” Alfred moaned out as he started to grind against Arthur.

Arthur started working soft kisses into Alfred’s skin, making senseless patterns across his chest and down his stomach, stopping to lick at a hipbone and then moving back up slowly, his hands rubbing sensual circles to the insides of Alfred’s thighs.

He wanted to savor every part of Alfred, wanted to kiss and lick every tan line and freckle upon his body, but Alfred was squirming and needy beneath him, already reaching for a tube of lube on his nightstand that he didn’t remember putting there. It seemed that Alfred came prepared today.

Instead of handing the lube over, like Arthur assumed he would, Alfred squirted it onto his own fingers and nibbled on his lower lip with a nervous look. “You’re taking too long,” he explained, although it didn’t really answer anything. He rubbed the clear gel between his fingers as if testing it, before reaching between their bodies and carefully penetrating himself.

At Alfred’s soft gasp, Arthur sat back, his hands on Alfred’s knees so he could watch. Both in arousal and with a hint of concern, as he’d never asked if Alfred had done this sort of thing before.

Alfred’s cheeks turned crimson and he looked away from Arthur’s face, instead trying to bury his own into the pillow beneath his head as he prepared himself.

Deciding that Alfred knew what he was doing, Arthur slowly pushed Alfred’s knees apart, biting and kissing the quivering muscles of his thighs. He watched those nimble fingers push in and out of his love’s entrance, curling and stretching with familiarity.

Alfred began to make open mouthed pants into the pillow, his cock twitching.

“Okay,” Alfred said with a sigh and removed his fingers. He reached his lube-slicked hand out to grasp Arthur’s cock and smear some of the gel along it. “Okay,” he said again and wrapped his arms around Arthur’s neck.

Arthur bit his lip, and although he wanted to plunge himself directly into Alfred’s heat, he had to ask, “Are you sure?”

Alfred smiled and pressed a trembling kiss to Arthur’s cheek. “Yeah, I’ve been practicing all week to get myself ready for you.”

“Ah,” Arthur groaned in mock disappointment. “I’ve missed out.”

They chuckled together, nuzzling foreheads.

“Then I’ll be gentle,” he said and guided himself inside of Alfred. He watched as Alfred’s head fell back onto the pillow, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed his gasps and moans.

“Oh pet, don’t be quiet,” Arthur murmured as he continued to push inside, pausing a moment to kiss Alfred’s chest when he tensed briefly.

“Oh – hnnn – kay,” Alfred stuttered out, his toes curling into the blankets.

Arthur pushed all the way in and sighed, scanning Alfred’s face for discomfort. He tilted his head as Alfred began threading his fingers into his hair, stroking it in an attempt to calm himself and adjust.

“I’m good.” Alfred ran his hands through Arthur’s hair once more and then tapped him on the nose. “Do me good.”

Arthur snorted. “Please inform me when I do anything less than good in bed,” he grumbled, if not slightly amused.

His thrusts started out shallow, giving Alfred a chance to acclimate to his size.

Alfred’s chest heaved as he sighed and panted, arching beneath Arthur until eventually raising his hips to meet Arthur halfway. Alfred hooked a leg over Arthur’s shoulder and grinded into him, a silent indication for him to go harder or faster – Arthur opted for both, holding onto Alfred’s leg and picking up his pace.

“Oh-oh, oh God, auhh, Arthur . . . more. . .!” Alfred pleaded, his hands raised above his head to grasp his pillow as his back arched off the mattress, only his shoulders touching the bed. “I – I lo-oove you right now.”

Arthur breath hitched, but he kept his rhythm. They’d never said the three words yet – Arthur had been afraid that it might’ve been too soon in their relationship, but he leaned forward, bending Alfred with the motion, and mumbled against tanned skin, “I love you always.”

“Ah, oh, ah, tell me that when you’re not, ah, fucking me.” Alfred laughed it off, but his face was bright and open, a flush of effort and exercise on his cheeks.

Arthur decided that he wants to love and cherish that face for as long as he lives – to attend every jazz concert, listen to every private jam session, kiss this man from head to toe and remind him how beautiful and adorable he is, no matter how nervous he can become when things get intimate or unfamiliar.

“I’ll tell you . . . that, ahm, whenever you wish me to.”

Their sweaty skin slapped together as Arthur’s thrusts became more and more erratic.

Alfred pushed back Arthur’s damp hair from his eyes before beginning to fist himself.

Arthur was so close – could only think about perfecting his timing. He gave a few final, strong thrusts before pulling out and coming onto Alfred’s stomach.

Alfred’s abs clench at the feeling and Arthur fell next to him, still shuddering and panting. However, his hand clasped over Alfred’s and he helped him jerk himself off.

When Alfred came, he stiffened for a few moments, holding his hand over the tip of his cock to prevent his cum from spurting all over them. Then he rolled over smearing their cum between them as he reached for a towel over Arthur’s shoulder to clean his hand.

He buried his nose in the crook of Arthur’s neck. “Do you really love me?” he asked once he was finally down from his high, biting his lower lip even though he was completely lax and sated.

“I would never lie about such a thing,” Arthur crooned, tucking an errant lock of hair behind Alfred’s ear. “But, yes, I do love you. You lovely, saxophone playing, handsome creature, you.”

Alfred sighs. “Good, ‘coz . . . ‘coz I love you too and – and I’m just so glad.”

They bumped noses and Alfred laughed.

“Yeah, I don’t care if Matt thinks you’re too old for me or whatever. I think you’re perfect and that you should come to my next concert. I get discount seats, so if you ever wanna go, just let me know.”

“I’ll happily go to them all, unless something at work prevents me – though I doubt that.” Arthur admitted as his hands began to wander over Alfred’s shoulders. “And I’ve taken a shine to Elizabeta – she has a quick wit, that one.”

Alfred laughed and pulled Arthur closer. “You really are perfect, you know?”

Arthur only smiled to himself, unwilling to admit that Alfred was the perfect one, not him. But he lets him have his way, because watching Alfred work from his window or from house seats was nothing compared to having him in his arms, and Arthur would never trade it for the world.


End file.
